


Ghosts

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Huxloween, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: He’s prepared for it, willing to face his punishment, to beg for forgiveness if necessary. It’s the waiting around for it that’s killing him.
Kylo wonders why Hux is ignoring him following the destruction of Starkiller Base.
   7/6 - Updated with Counterpoint: Hux





	1. Kylo

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious Plot Twist Is Obvious.

Hux is furious with him.

It’s not… entirely unjustified. If Kylo had put the good of the Order above his own interests, like Hux was always nagging him to do, then the Order wouldn’t be crippled now, its manpower decimated, and most importantly, Hux’s life’s work wouldn’t have been reduced to a cloud of ash and rock.

It is that last part, he thinks, that has him in such hot water.

It should have been their moment of triumph, the payoff of ten years hard work. For years they had been saying that as soon as Starkiller was completed they would go on leave together, find some planet with soft beds and rocky beaches where they could be alone, just the two of them. Instead, Hux is pulling double shifts just trying clean up the mess of what was formerly his life’s work, stumbling to bed exhausted and falling asleep on top of the covers with his boots still on.

 All because Kylo let himself get sidetracked. He let the light distract him from his true purpose, and the man he loved was paying the price for it. Worse, he hadn’t even caught the girl. The only thing Hux hated worse than unnecessary mistakes were unnecessary _failures_.

In short, Kylo fucked up. He knows he fucked up. A big- huge, _massive_ -‘I told you so’ is in order. He’s prepared for it, willing to face his punishment, to beg for forgiveness if necessary.

It’s the waiting around for it that’s killing him.

They’ve been together long enough for Kylo to know that when Hux is really, truly angry, he needed time to himself. So Kylo isn’t really surprised by the cold shoulder that greats him as soon as he’s discharged from medical. He takes his hint from the icy silence and bedroom doors closed in his face, curling himself small and apologetic on their couch and letting Hux retreat into the bedroom with his anger.

Kylo leaves wordless apologies wherever he thinks Hux will find them- his uniform pressed and laid out for him. Daily reports left beside his datapad. A cup of caf on the bedside table. Neither of them are sentimental men. When Hux falls asleep in his clothes, Kylo peels them off, careful not to wake him, and tucks the general under a blanket instead.

Years ago, when whatever it was between them was still an unknown quantity, a secret to be kept hidden in darkened bedrooms and locked supply closets, they had visited Hux’s home planet of Arkanis together. Hux had been asked to come and give the commencement speech at his old Academy, and Kylo had tagged along, uninvited but secretly curious to see the place where Hux had grown up. There is a holophoto of the two of them together there. It’s the only picture Kylo Ren has ever allowed anyone to take of him.

Hux hadn’t asked him first. Had simply threaded his arm through Kylo’s, said _smile, Ren,_ and nodded politely at the cameraman. The picture captured the moment immediately afterwards; Hux polished and stiff, his hair burnished gold, and Kylo’s face soft with surprise, staring at the place where their arms touched.

In a fit of maudlin self-pity, after a night of, “ _Please let me apologize, please Hux I’m sorry_ , _just talk to me,_ ” directed at Hux’s back, he leaves this picture on the bed so Hux can find it when he wakes and hopefully remember better times.

When he returns the next day to find their door-code – always, _always_ the date of their first kiss- changed for the first time and his clothes shoved unceremoniously down the garbage chute, he hits the comm button with a gloved fist.

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

No answer.

“Just talk to me.”

He jabs the button again and again. If he can’t play on Hux’s sympathy, he will fall back on his usual tactic- irritation.

“Give me a chance to apologize. Please.”

Again, again, agai-

“Touch that button again and I’ll have you shot.” Hux’s crisp voice over the comm system is cold beyond freezing. It’s cold enough to _burn_.

So for days Kylo drifts aimlessly between the training rooms and medical; purposeless, untethered. He meditates. Wastes long hours in the observation decks simply staring out the viewports. Nobody needs him, in the first chaotic weeks after the destruction of Starkiller Base. They need Hux. They need a leader.

The only times he sees Hux are in the halls.  They fall into step beside each other easily, their footsteps matching. Kylo doesn’t have anywhere to be and so he goes wherever Hux is going. Trails beside him aimlessly. Hux still doesn’t speak to him. Seems to be trying very hard to pretend that Kylo isn’t there at all.

“You have to talk to me eventually, general.” Kylo says one day, falling back on formality.

Hux doesn’t answer, but he does throw a surreptitious glance in Kylo’s direction, frowning before going back to ignoring him.

Kylo can feel temper building, like a storm in the air.

“No more of this,” he seethes, following Hux into his office, slipping inside before Hux can close the door in his face. “You won’t ignore me anymore, Hux. I’m _sorry._ I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the base. I’m sorry I failed you. I’ll say it a thousand times if you’ll just _listen to me_.”

His words are met with a stony silence. Sitting at his desk, Hux presses two fingers between his eyes, soothing away the worry lines he gets when he’s overworked. He looks tired, and Kylo wants to take him by the hand. To lead him back to their rooms and curl up beside him and simply _rest_.

Pain endurance had been a part of his training. Pain was fear, was strength, was power. Kylo always thought he could withstand anything. He would walk on bleeding feet, fight with a gaping wound in his side, but he finds that he cannot endure this, the pain of being ignored, of being _cast out,_ by the only person who has ever looked at him and seen something worth keeping.

His entire life he has been too much _._ Too big. Too strong. Too upset. Too conflicted, too quick to tears, too angry, too weak, _too much_ _too much too much._

_“Look at you,” Hux muttered, fucked out and sleepy. He is curling Kylo’s hair around his pale fingers and they are face to face, close enough that Kylo could feel the warmth of Hux’s breath on his nose. Green eyes are bright, sharp, even in the dark of his bedroom, and he wants to hide himself from their scrutiny. “Perfect. You’re just perfect.”_

Hux ignores his tears. That is what finally breaks him. 

_Hux was terrible at giving comfort, but Kylo appreciated that he tried. That Hux tried for him. “Now stop that. Right now. Stop.” His voice was brusque as he patted Kylo’s shoulder mechanically. It was more of a gentle swatting motion with a half-circle rub inserted every three pats. Kylo chokes on a laugh at the awkwardness of it. Tears, rage, joy; all of those messy, sticky emotions that Kylo was full to bursting with made Hux uncomfortable, but he stayed, sitting beside Kylo on the bed, close enough that their thighs were touching, and he barely complains when Kylo buries his snot-and-tear-slicked face in the junction of his shoulder._

_“Why won’t you talk to me?”_ The words feel ripped out of him. Too loud, too angry. The holoprojector on Hux’s desk shatters against the far wall in a violent sweep of his arm, and Hux yelps. Jumps, practically crawling up into his desk chair. His eyes are wide with terror, staring at the place where the holoprojector used to be. He presses a hand over his mouth.

“ _Look at me!”_

Hux glances around the room, unseeing.

“Kylo…” Hux wets his lips, whispers nervously, “please stop.” His face is white. “Just… _stop_.”

“Not until you talk to me, Hux. Not until you let me apologize. You’re not getting rid of me this easily. I won’t be cast aside over a mistake, please, you have to-“

“Fuck, this is… this is ridiculous,” Hux mutters. He buries his face in his hands and his shoulders shake as he slowly collapses in on himself like a star becoming a black hole. “You’re not here.”

“I’m here, Hux, I’m right here. Look at me!”

“You’re not-“ he sniffs loudly, and Kylo realizes with dull shock that _Hux is crying_. He’s never seen Hux cry before. It’s like some internal dam has finally ruptured, little sobs spilling out of him slow at first, then faster, harder. He cries like a child, like someone who has never learned to stifle their tears.

Kylo circles around behind the desk, his anger forgotten, so that he can kneel beside the chair and slip an arm around Hux’s narrow shoulders- the cut of his uniform always made them seem wider than they really were- but that only seems to make him cry harder. “I’m here, I’m right here, it’s okay Hux, it’ll be okay-“

“ _General Hux?”_ It’s Mitaka’s apologetic voice on the comm.

Hux sniffs again, dragging the heel of his hand over his splotchy eyes, but he doesn’t leave the sheltered embrace of Kylo’s arm.

“Yes, lieutenant?” Hux’s voice sounds tight with tears, but the words are steady. He breathes deeply once, twice.

“Sorry to bother you, sir… Medical wants permission to release Lord Ren’s body.”

It takes a few tries before Hux manages to say, “Fine. Granted.”

Kylo frowns. He doesn’t… That isn’t right… “My body? What is he talking about? Hux?”

Hux doesn’t answer him. He pulls his datapad across the desk, tapping open some report and scrawling a signature across the bottom of it without looking before shoving it away again. Kylo’s attention is dragged to the report when he sees his name at the top of it, but that _can’t be right_ because the report, he realizes with slow creeping horror, is a _death certificate._

_-Kylo Ren was returned to the ship by General Armitage Hux, but medical was unable to-_

Further down, something else catches his eye.

_Cause of Death: Internal Hemorrhaging, Shock_

_Date of Death 32.3.1 ABY_

That wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. It was a mistake, obviously it was a mistake, he was _right here._ “Hux, what is this? What’s going on? Please, I don’t understand…”

Hux doesn’t answer him.


	2. Hux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A counterpoint to Ghosts, from Hux's POV.

In the drawer of his desk there’s a little black box small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Simple black-laquered wood with a little hinge. He used to like to take it out while he was working; tossing it up in the air and catching it, or simply setting it on the corner of the desk like a reminder. Something to run his eyes over when his mind wandered.

The box has been forsaken at the back of the drawer for weeks now, where he doesn’t have to think about it. He doesn’t think he can stand the sight of it now. Not yet.

In the wake of the destruction of Starkiller Base there’s been so much to do he’s barely had time to breathe. Meetings, councils, emergency committees. It’s a blessing; so long as he keeps moving he doesn’t have to think. Retribution. As dire a loss as the Order has suffered, the Republic still took the harder blow, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t press that narrow shred of advantage to his dying breath.

If they thought Starkiller was something, just wait. The destruction of one system was nothing compared to what he’s going to reign down on the New Republic next. He’ll hunt every last one of them down himself if he has to- man, woman, and child.

Maybe when he’s ground them all to dust he’ll be able to open the box. Perhaps. But not before then.

When he was growing up, smothering under the corpse of the empire, there was a saying that was popular-  _it’s your best laid plans that go wrong_. He had never quite understood it as a boy. They couldn’t have been very good plans if they went wrong. At the time it had seemed like a saying for underachievers and half-arsers to explain their own failure.

It’s your best laid plans that go wrong.

The box in his desk drawer taunts him with the failure of his own elaborate dreams.

He had considered opening it only once since Starkiller. The medical team had asked Hux if he wanted to see him. His first thought had been to snarl at their presumption, before he remembered that Ren had listed him as his emergency contact.

It had been early in their- not a relationship, not then. An arrangement. Physical contact exchanged for like. Hard, closed-mouth kisses and grasping hands in the dark. A little relief from the tension.

_“I need a contact, in case something happens to you,” he’d said, assuming that Ren was just being an arse about the whole thing. “Next of kin.”_

_“I put one.”_

_“You put me.”_

_“You were the only person I could think of.”_

His second thought had been of the box and its contents and-  _well, what other chance will I have?_

But he remembers seeing his father’s body after the man finally died- how still he looked, and how wrong. Not a person at all. Just an assembly of meat and bones and biology, already rotting despite the stasis fields keeping it fresh for the viewing.

The sight had bled over into every other memory he had of his father, eclipsing them. He hated that it would always be the first thing he thought of when he remembered his father.

He couldn’t bear to have his memories of Ren poisoned that way.

And they’re everywhere- those memories, when is forced to slow down long enough for them to catch him up. In every hall, every echo. Every corner of the quarters that they’d shared. Stupid little things. The scuff mark on the floor where he’d dropped his helmet once in a haste to take Hux to bed. Half-empty bottles of that expensive soap he used in his hair. Hux used to tease him for his vanity.

_“It’s not as if anyone ever sees your hair.”_

_“You do.”_

The memory stings now. He hadn’t meant anything by it- it was just a bit of teasing. If he’d known…

He’s never been a demonstrative man. Affection had never come easily. And… It was easy to forget that underneath Ren’s thick armor there was something so soft.

He hadn’t said it enough. Always just assumed that Ren just  _knew_ , but…

The thought pierces something inside of him, which spills out in pathetic little whimpers when he finally collapses in bed with his boots still on, curling onto his side on top of the blankets, too exhausted to move any more but unable to sleep for the fear that Ren might not have known. That he had lain there, cold and alone, snow falling in his dark hair like stars, and  _he didn’t know that I-_

It’s your best laid plans that go wrong.

He’d had it all planned out. They had been saying for years that when the base was completed he would use some of that shore leave he’d been hoarding and they would go away somewhere, just the two of them. Ren wanted somewhere with an ocean. Somewhere tumultuous, where they could sit and listen to the waves crash while the evening sun set on the horizon. And Hux had never had strong feelings about nature in any form, but the thought of Ren by evening light, with the wind tangling his hair and the smell of salt in the air… yes, he would have liked to watch an ocean sunset with Ren.

Ren didn’t know it, but Hux had already found the perfect little planet. There was a cabin waiting for them there, on a wild, rocky beach, a few hours from the nearest town. Everything was already prepared. He would let Ren have his sunset and then he would get down on one knee and take the little box with its polished black band out of his pocket and ask Ren to marry him.

It was all going to be stupidly romantic. A grand dramatic gesture. Ren loved that sort of thing.

Hux did too.

He had been fussing over the exact wording of it for ages, but he’d been confident he would have it in time. There are a dozen drafts of his proposal hidden away in an encrypted file on his datapad, from the professional to the poetic.  _My strange, insufferable heart, will you be mine-_

Ren has always brought out his flair for the dramatic.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. He’ll need to delete them.  
  
_It’s your best laid plans that go wrong._ He hadn’t understood it as a boy, but he thinks he does now.

When he wakes, the skin on his face is stiff with dried tears. He’s managed to undress and get into bed without remembering it.

Exhaustion helps him float through his days. Sometimes he looks over and there is a mug of tea beside him that he doesn’t remember making. He goes to polish his boots and finds it already done.

Other times he’ll turn and open his mouth to ask Ren a question, certain that he’s just out of sight, before he remembers…

It’s all just grief, he knows. A physiological reaction. It’ll all be over soon.

Although when wakes one morning to find the holophoto of the two of them has been lain on the bed beside him, a desperate little part of him starts to reconsider.


End file.
